


Your Babiest Brother, Kravitz

by Lanyare



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:19:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanyare/pseuds/Lanyare
Summary: When you're the youngest sibling it's hard to live up to the expectations of your older brothers and sisters, especially when they refuse to forget some of your early...mishaps. Kravitz is doing his best, though.





	Your Babiest Brother, Kravitz

It was time for the weekly Reaper Status Meeting, and Kravitz was late.

He wasn't late because he'd been tied up on business, not dealing with a dire necromantic cult nor pursuing a lich, not searching for a cursed artifact nor chasing down some particularly tempting bounty. He was late because...well, he simply hated Reaper Status Meeting, and had been so caught up in hating the fact that he would have to go to Reaper Status Meeting soon that before he knew it...he was late. And he knew he'd never hear the end of it from the others, because none of _them_ were ever late. They were all proper reapers and did everything exactly perfect and blah blah blah.

Sometimes it really sucked being the youngest. Even though "youngest" meant that he'd been a reaper for over five centuries (or was it six? Sometimes it was hard to keep track) and was certainly experienced enough for maybe a little bit of respect, it just never really seemed to happen.

He pushed through the double doors and entered the meeting room, today made to look like a properly gloomy study, the walls lined with bookcases with books all bound in black leather, black velvet curtains covering the windows, and five heavy chairs arranged in a loose semicircle before the vast black marble hearth where a fire provided the only light within the shadowed room. Sawyer had been the first to the meeting again, apparently; he always went all in on the gloomy decor, and _that_ coming from Kravitz, the one whose wardrobe was practically monochrome. If he turned he had no doubt there would be a marble bust above the door with a raven lurking atop it, ready to squawk at anyone who paid it too much attention.

Only three of the chairs were currently occupied when he entered, though four sets of eyes turned toward him. Branwen was standing, because Branwen was always standing during these meetings, stiff and formal, with her dark hair slicked back from her face and her hands clasped behind her back. The shadow she cast in the firelight fluttered with the hint of wings rather than holding to the limitations of an actual shadow— she was by far the oldest of them all, and the more time she spent in the service of the Raven Queen, the more she seemed to resemble her goddess.

Sometimes Kravitz wondered if that was what the future held for him, in time. Would he be so consumed by his occupation that it would become all of him, until there was nothing to him that was not wholly _reaper_ other than his name?

"Nice of you to finally join us," Cesar observed, arching one brow as he assumed an expression Kravitz had caught him practicing in the mirror more than once. It was intended to intimidate his prey, he'd once explained, when in an expansive mood. He felt it important to establish a certain dynamic when pursuing a bounty, that he was the one with power and they...were not. Privately Kravitz thought it made him look rather constipated, but hadn't ever dared to mention that. Especially not after he'd once been caught trying to come up with a sufficiently intimidating expression himself. Or twice. Maybe.

Long practice also let him show none of what he was thinking as he moved to take his own chair, with a nod toward the others. "Well, you know, things come up." And he wasn't really _that_ late. Was he? Sometimes time could flow a bit oddly in the Astral Plane, especially when you were shifting between there and elsewhere.

Lorelei tittered behind one dark-gloved hand. "Did you cut yourself on your scythe again, Kravvy?"

Thank the goddess that the undead didn't _blush_. "That was over _four hundred years ago_ , Lorelei," Kravitz reminded her, doing his best not to grimace at the hated nickname. "I have had rather a lot of practice since then, you realize."

"Oh, that's practically yesterday," she replied with a light sniff and a dismissive wave of her hand. "The centuries start to bleed together once you've been doing this long enough, you know."

"Enough." The word was decisive as the stroke of a scythe, lent additional dignity by Sawyer's clipped accent. "Now that our youngest brother has joined us, we can proceed. Kravitz? If you would care to go first, please report on the status of the Eternal Stockade."

"Oh, I do love hearing about the Stockade," Kravitz could hear Cesar's loud whisper quite clearly, even though he was pretending to hide it behind one hand as he leaned toward Lorelei. "So much nostalgia, you know? Though I _was_ glad when someone newer finally came along and could take it over."

Lorelei nodded, not even bothering with the pretense Cesar had made. "Oh, I know, there are so many more interesting bounties to go after when you don't have to spend so much time on _guard duty_."

The two of them subsided as Sawyer cleared his throat, leaning back in their chairs with a mildly guilty expression (on Cesar's part) and a slightly superior smirk (for Lorelei). Kravitz nervously tugged at the bottom of his already-perfect coat and tried to gather his thoughts.

"Ah. Well, there's been a bit of a disturbance in the Stockade lately, as a matter of fact—" he began, only to cut himself off, eyes widening a fraction as he saw the shadows in the far corner of the room begin to shift and coalesce. The others followed his gaze, and those seated immediately rose, expressions now full of nothing but profound respect.

The shape of the room lost its coherency as it diverged from the form Sawyer had imposed on it, obeying the will of the one who held all command of that domain, fading from solid walls to warm, shifting darkness, the impression of feathers, the hard glint of a black eye, pale skin, dark hair; the scent of turned earth and damp stone; a chill that touched the soul rather than the body.

 _There has been a theft,_ the Raven Queen's voice intoned, echoing in ears and mind alike. _Souls reft from the very Stockade itself. They must be found and returned, the one responsible brought to justice._

"I will go." Branwen stepped forward, one hand resting against her black-enamelled breastplate as she bowed to the goddess. "Such a desecration must not go unpunished."

It was more words than Kravitz had heard her speak at once in— a very long time, the harsh voice grating in a lesser echo of the Raven Queen's.

 _No,_ the goddess replied, to the visible surprise of all five reapers. Her attention shifted, dark eyes meeting Kravitz's from within the amorphous form, and the weight of her regard felt like a tangible thing, a presence that weighed him down while it lifted him up. He found himself nodding slowly to a question she hadn't really asked, but which he understood through the connection that had existed between them since she'd first made him her own. A shape not unlike a broad black-feathered wing brushed against his cheek and withdrew, and he felt her attention shift away from him toward the others.

 _Kravitz is responsible for the residents of the Stockade,_ she told them all, the statement made a decree by the weight of the voice speaking it. _He will go_.

Despite the difficulty of arguing with a goddess, Cesar still rose to the occasion and his feet, standing up (and up, he being easily the tallest of all his reaper siblings), the black leather armor he favored creaking as he offered a half-bow as though in apology for his words. "With all respect, Kravitz is young, and inexperienced. Surely one of us should at least go with him to support—"

 **_No._ ** This time the word came with a rush of power, of presence, like a torrent of wind that stole breath and balance from the living. **_He_ ** _will go._

And then she was gone, the room still and silent and filled with only the dancing shadows cast by the firelight. And four sets of eyes regarded Kravitz with varying expressions but equal degrees of expectation. He had been given a task, him very specifically, and now had to prove himself to the others. A small part of him was giddy with delight at the opportunity to finally have that chance, to show his siblings that he wasn't weak or useless as they seemed to assume he was— but a much larger part of him wa suddenly very, _very_ nervous indeed.

He had sometimes, to himself and doing his best to keep the thoughts away from the part of himself always connected to his goddess, wondered just why _he_ had been chosen to be a reaper— he, once a simple bard, not a former cleric (like Lorelei) or a paladin (like Branwen or Sawyer). Even Cesar, as a former ranger, had skills that well exceeded his own when it came to tracking down bounties. But the Raven Queen couldn't possibly make a mistake, especially not with how closely she worked with Istus. There _had_ to be a reason...somewhere.

Maybe this would finally tell him what it was?

When no one else seemed about to speak Kravitz finally cleared his throat quietly, brushing his hands down the front of his coat (a coat, not armor like any of the others, yet another way he stood out as different from the rest) before reaching for his scythe. The weight of it and the cool smoothness of the handle that fit so neatly into his hand were reassuring, if nothing else. "I...suppose I should get going, then."

"Indeed." Branwen almost snapped the word, her face briefly reflecting her displeasure at being rejected for the mission. "This meeting is adjourned. Until next time."

Cesar gave a laugh full of false amusement and nodded, stepping forward to clap his hand on Kravitz's shoulder. "Indeed! Best of luck to you, little brother," he said, with perhaps just a hint of emphasis on the 'little'. "And a bit of advice — remember what happened with that cult in Ankhapur that one time? Don't risk your construct until you've scouted out the area with a more durable form first."

With a last light squeeze of his hand and a hearty-looking smile, he stepped away again and out the door, much to Kravitz's relief. So _one time_ , only _one_ in all his centuries, he'd been caught by a lucky shot that had disintegrated his construct body and forced him to hastily assemble a golem out of the stone altar the cultists were using in order to complete the task. That one time, of course, he'd been new enough to the job that Cesar had been shadowing him, and ever since had never failed to bring it up as an amusing story whenever he could.

Lorelei simply disappeared where she stood without any farewell, presumably heading off to sulk about not being chosen, and Sawyer left with a slightly distracted nod and murmured farewell, leaving Kravitz alone with Branwen. Branwen, whose regard was nearly as piercing as the Raven Queen's, and who never failed to make him nervous in the best of circumstances. All she did was incline her head toward him, however, and leave with the single cryptic word, "Luck."

He wasn't quite sure if she was _wishing_ him luck or telling him he'd _need_ it, and decided it would be best not to ask for clarification. If she'd even be willing to give it, considering how little she tended to speak.

Kravitz sighed and shook thoughts of his fellow reapers away, reaching out for the book that fell obediently open into his hand at the gesture, and flipped through in search of his assigned bounty. _Lucas Miller_ , he read, then frowned at the given location of _above the Stillwater Sea_ , because, well... _above_ it?

No matter. He had a bounty to deal with, and a _lot_ to prove to his siblings in the process. Maybe after this they'd have stories to tell that _didn't_ involve his early mistakes as a reaper. Kravitz straightened, tugged at his tie, then abandoned his construct and, as a ball of white soul fire, slipped through a portal to the laboratory that held his assignment.


End file.
